


the loneliness of a grey warden

by Tadeusz



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: He's there too - Freeform, M/M, Multiple Wardens, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Zevran and the Warden have a son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7859026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tadeusz/pseuds/Tadeusz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no avoiding the Calling, not anymore. At least he does not stand at the maw of the Deep Roads alone, even if he almost wishes he did. Garlan Cousland has lost so much of himself, and this is not the man he would have them remember.</p><p>Still, the road before him is vast and solitary and leads down into the unyielding dark of the world, too much for one man to bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the loneliness of a grey warden

He would have liked to have gone to his death somewhere along the Storm Coast, but of course it had to be Orzammar. Here, in the heat and gleam of the rivers lava with the city arching high overhead all around it, everything in shades of red and brown. Somehow, it still managed to make him feel like he was suffocating. Worst of all was the maw of the Deep Roads, beckoning him like a sinister promise, always a stark reminder that he would return.

And, well. Here he was.

He had fought his Calling for longer than he should have. It colored all his thoughts now. Letters from Fergus darted in and out of focus until they were meaningless scribbles. When he tried to think of his mother’s face, of Wynne’s, they blurred together, indistinct—something that was neither of them at all. His Mabari, King—no, no, King had fought against the Blight with him, he was long dead, this one was different, her name was… Laurel, Laurel, of course. Laurel had to try for long minutes to get his attention, pawing and whining until he slowly looked at her, and remembered where he was.

Sometimes, it was so loud, echoing, weaving, ringing in his ears that he couldn’t remember Zevran’s voice, even with Zevran beside him.

Oh, he had kept it at bay for so long. Fought tooth and nail, raced against time to find a cure—and did he not deserve a kind ending, something gentle, after all he had been through?

He thought of Hawke, when he could manage it, thin and hunched and half mad after eight months in the Fade, of the whites of her eyes when even Merrill so much as touched her shoulder. Of Inquisitor Adaar’s tight smiles and missing arm, the way she spoke of Skyhold with such longing, as if her heart was broken all over again. Of King Alistair and Warden Commander Tarrie Mahariel, and how straight their backs were as they strode together, down, down into the dark and the end.

(Tarrie had asked him to come with them. Part of him knew he should have said yes—it was not as strong as theirs, but his Calling had been there, lurking. Two years. He had bought himself two desperate years. For what? To make his friends, his husband, his son all watch him become a husk?)

Heroes so rarely got the endings they deserved.

He was not alone, not yet. Zevran, Lalo, Laurel, Fergus—it took him a moment, but then—Leliana, Oghren, too. Morrigan, with pursed lips. A dwarf with glowing eyes. He did not think he knew her, but the name ‘Shale’ was familiar. Sten was not present, but he had written. He could not remember what the letter said, but he had it tucked in a pouch at his waist. But Wynne, where was—ah. Dead, for a long time. Yes.

(It made sense, when he focused on it. Fergus and Lalo and Laurel hadn’t been there at the same time as her. But when he let his mind wander to other things, he had to remind himself—no, no, Wynne isn’t here. Mother’s not here, either. That was a lifetime ago, two lifetimes ago.)

He almost wished none of them had come to see him off. The veins in his neck ran deep violet, almost black, and his eyes were glassy, pale, leeched of their warm brown color.

This was not the man he would have them remember.

“Oh,” said Leliana, dressed in the clothes she had worn before ‘Divine Victoria,’ “ _Garlan_.” She flung her arms around him and held so tight that it reminded him of Tarrie, little Dalish sister Tarrie—

(Stop that. Two years ago. Lifetimes ago.)

Fergus rested his forehead against Garlan’s and made sure Garlan looked him in the eye. Last of his line. It made him ache. But, no, he had Oren—no, no, not Oren anymore, a daughter, born much later. “I’m glad,” Garlan said, slowly, “That you won’t be alone this time.”

Morrigan said little, and did not touch him, but her eyes were ringed with dark circles. She had poured over Flemeth’s grimoir for weeks, looking for something she might have missed, a way out, a loop in your hole, as she said. He laughed, thinking of it, and she furrowed her brow. This time, he would have taken her up on her offer, no matter the cost.

(She did the same thing when Tarrie went, too. She was a good heart, their Morrigan.)

Oghren shuffled his feet and huffed, “Guess I won’t be long after, huh? Sod it all. Kill a bunch of the bastards for the Nugget, will ya? Didn’t name ‘em after you for nothing.”

“I suppose it’s pointless to wish it well,” said Shale, and the connection glimmered for the moment—a golem! Oh, a dear old friend. But the song wound its way in and dissipated the thought like smoke. When the recognition left his face, Shale sighed.

Shale left with Morrigan and Oghren, Leliana trailing behind, glancing over her shoulder. Fergus withdrew only a little ways.

The next part deserved privacy, no matter how much they may have wanted to stay.

Lalo. He was a man grown now, but somehow still that little boy. Lalo, who had grown out of that childhood nickname long ago. Garlan’s death was the last in a long line of things that he did not understand and could not forgive. Even so, when Garlan pulled him close, he clung tight and whispered, “I wish you didn’t have to go.” Still that child, plagued by nightmares.

Laurel whimpered and nudged Garlan’s hand, but when Lalo stepped back, she followed. “You be good. Take care of him,” Garlan said, and for a moment, she was King, and he was standing in the burning city of Denerim—

No. This was Orzammar, and Zevran was holding onto him like his life depended on it. Through the fog, through the Calling, Garlan felt hot tears on his neck.

“Ask me to go with you,” Zevran whispered.

Garlan’s breath hitched.

It was selfish, so unbearably selfish, that he wanted to say, ‘Please come with me.’ He hated himself for it. It was a precious offer, a companion at the end. A knife in the back if the Taint overcame him before the darkspawn cut him down.

Zevran would not come on his own, of course. There was still adventure to be had in the wide world, tales to be a part of, history to change, even without Garlan. There was Lalo to think of, too. He was not the man he had been all those years ago, throwing himself at the Wardens, hoping to die.

And yet. He would sacrifice it without hesitation, if Garlan asked it of him.

Silence stretched around them, wrapping them safe in a limbo where they still might be together until the last. Garlan closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of Zevran’s hair as he stroked it, the pads of Zevran’s fingers pressing against his shoulders, counted the breaths against his neck. If nothing else, he would remember these things, and take them into the dark.

“You can’t ask me to do that,” Garlan said. There was no other answer.

Zevran shuddered against him. “I know, my love,” he said. “I know.”

He untangled himself from Garlan, painfully slow, and kissed him gently, on the corner of his mouth.

That, too, he would carry.

He had to go _now_. Before it slipped away.

He turned for the Deep Roads, alone. He did not see Zevran turn his face away, squeezing his eyes shut, or hear Lalo mutter, “Papá,” as he put an arm around him.

Garlan glanced behind, once, to be comforted by their silhouettes against the soft, orange glow.

When Zevran had gathered his courage around himself again, he looked up, and the two of them watched Garlan vanish into the depths of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is essentially me lovingly nodding my head to the song 'La Soledad de un Rey' by Frederico Jusid, because that is what I listened to nonstop while writing this.
> 
> Tarrie Mahariel, belongs to [this fabulous human](http://im-the-swamp-witch.tumblr.com).
> 
> This was written based on a "You can't ask me to do that" prompt from [a different fabulous human](http://llwynogyn.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
